Down Among The Dead Men
by HuntedRose
Summary: There are more than vampires out in the night. Natalie/LaCroix
1. Stepping lightly

Down Among the Dead Men  
The music competed with the noise of the dancers in the neon-lit dark of the club. The loud rock beat making the bar against the far wall vibrate like it was caught in a mild after shock of an earthquake. Mike was used to it. He'd tended bar in The Dark Star for almost a decade now. Anywhere else would seem too quiet to work in now.  
  
A man with short brown hair and a rumpled casual suit wandered by the bar headed for the back. His walk was unstable, not at all a strange thing to see here so late at night. Mike hoped the guy was headed to call for a ride home. So many people weren't that sensible. As he passed by, he sucked in a quick breath at the glimpse he got of the man's face. He'd been in a nasty fight, no maybe about that! It looked like someone had used him for a punching bag; swollen, dark red and bruised. No wonder he was unsteady. Mike wondered if he should offer help. Well, maybe when he comes back out. Might just want to heave his guts in the men's room in private. That's what he'd done the one time he'd been in anything near that condition. Maybe this guy had dated the wrong girl too. If he didn't come back out soon, Mike'd send one of the bouncers back to check on him.  
  
The waitress, Candi, brought him a new order to fill for a loud table full of frat boys, and he shook off his revery on pain. Poor guy.  
  
The glow from the computer monitor lit Natalie's face with a cold light in the dark office. Her face was intent, body leaning forward in interest as she scrolled through the latest toxicology screening on her John Doe. Officially, she went off duty a half hour ago, but she'd been too busy to look over the tests when they'd come in. The body had all of the signs of being dead for at least a day, but the bartender at the club had seen the man heading for the back only a few hours ago.  
  
It wasn't a bad beating. Post mortem lividity, it's called. The man had been laying face down after death, probably flat on his stomach with his head unsupported, over the edge of a bed, perhaps. No way to tell. Once his heart stopped beating, the blood in his veins and arteries flowed and ran downward, pulled by gravity, to pool in his face, his chest, the front of his legs and feet. Constricting veins stopping the blood's further movement, it had stayed there when the man had gotten up again. That didn't happen for many hours after death. How had he gotten up? And that just doesn't happen. Even having examined Nick and a few other vampires didn't change her mind on how impossible her John Doe was. There was still activity in a vampire body. The blood wouldn't pool like that. Even vampires needed blood moving through their veins to provide nourishment, life, to their cold bodies. What sort of thing didn't?  
  
And another question; why had he stopped moving? His body and organs had been spread out like a messy jigsaw puzzle for her earlier, but nothing had told her why. Not to any of her questions. Unlike most people thought, time of death wasn't really something that could be pinned down neatly. There were too many variables to take into account. Even she had been known to be pressured into giving approximate times of death, but deep down she knew she could be wrong. This time no such worry ate at her. This man had been dead when he'd walked for the last time.  
  
Her concession to being done with her shift was a cold brown glass bottle of hard apple cider, weeping condensation, that she was sipping while reading. The golden tart liquid gave her a similar golden glow inside. One wasn't enough to affect her driving; at least it wasn't if she downed some of the crackers in her drawer and finished reading all of this, which could take an hour or more if she took notes.  
  
Heck, she'd take a cab if necessary. She needed this.  
  
She ran a finger idly around the mouth of the bottle and gently sucked the tip of the finger without taking her eyes off of the monitor. Her thick curly brown hair was hot after a shift in the chill of the autopsy room with its tile, cold metal and colder flesh and her other hand lifted the heavy mass up, letting cool air get to the sweating nape of her neck.  
  
A voice from directly behind startled her. "Dr. Lambert, I hope you'll forgive me for intruding..." Natalie had an unfortunate reaction to being startled, everyone at the morgue knew it and teased her about it, but she'd hardly thought about what she was doing when her elbow jerked back and connected solidly with the body behind her.  
  
She was used to all sorts of reactions to this, but no one had ever grabbed her wrist before she'd even turned in her chair to see who it was. The voice registered in her memory at the same time she saw his short white blond hair and sensual lips with their amused smile, her mind pulling stickily out of fugue state she went into when she was reading. "LaCroix, what the hell are you doing in here!"  
  
"Attempting to not be gutted, apparently. Not breathing can have its occasional rewards. I didn't know you were such a warrior physically as well as mentally." He pulled her wrist up to his face and kissed the clenched fist softly. She glared at him.  
  
He sighed when she continued to try and sear through him with her eyes, not even bothering to reclaim her hand, as if it was beneath her to argue about it with him. Releasing it, he asked, "What, have I offended you? I assure you, it was accidental. Tell me, and I'll mend my wicked ways." He offered her an arch look, but not without humor.  
  
He was pleased when a laugh startled out of her, obviously against her wishes. "I won't hold my breath!" Her eyes had lost the deadly anger, though they were still wary. "Nick isn't here tonight, you know, so why don't you fly back to the Raven?"  
  
He had been looking for Nicholas, but really, as if that was the only reason he ventured out of his club. Why, there was...his thoughts stopped dead when he just couldn't think of the last time he'd done anything that didn't come back to his errant son. Even his radio broadcasts usually were geared to the off chance that Nicholas was listening. The club was where his son was used to gathering information in his homicide investigations and the small interaction he had with the vampire community. After Jeanette had left the Raven to him, he'd moved in and kept it running in the hopes of making himself a stable point that Nicholas felt drawn to more and more. And here he was seeking the boy out again. Old fools, nothing like them.  
  
Now that the doctor had pointed it out to him, LaCroix was too honest with himself to not admit that she was quite right. That didn't mean he intended to let her get away with it. And he really did need to broaden his interests, starting now. That brought another smile to his face, which Natalie viewed with deep suspicion. Showing his teeth slightly, he asked, "Have you eaten yet, my dear?" ****************************** 


	2. You Expected Dinner?

Guys...I know this isn't a new chapter, sorry! I'm trying to find out why FF.net has dropped my story out of its catagory and hopefully fix it without reposting and it won't let me upload a tiny file, go fig. I'll try and get a real one out next week...  
  
Rose  
  
Thanks for the reviews, they're greatly appreciated! This bit gets a smidge gory. I actually do have a place to go with all of this, and I'm here for the long haul as long as people keep reading. ;)  
  
Chapter 2 -- You Expected Dinner?  
  
Before Natalie could think of a suitably witty reply, a crash stopped her from the direction of the lab. "Zombies and vampires, what next, elves?" she muttered as she rushed back through the insulated doors, completely ready to ream a clumsy orderly and secretly thank him for a timely distraction.  
  
"No, of course not, it's zombies again. How do I rate?" The John Doe was upright, standing naked by the examination table, torso still open from top to bottom, the triangular part of the traditional Y-shaped autopsy incision flopping down over the chest cavity. Natalie was hysterically reminded of a holiday turkey, all the giblets safely removed so it could be stuffed. The body shuffled a little, legs still tangled in the sheet that had recently covered him. Focusing on her, it moved more quickly, headed toward her. The mouth worked, but only a wet sputter came out, bloody spittle running from the lips. She had an instant of wondering what one did at a time like this, with the back of her brain yelling "Run!" with all its might when a discolored arm reached out at her with a speed that made her pull back before she could think what she was doing.  
  
The clouded eyes. So much anger in them, a hatred she could touch.  
  
I didn't know. I didn't kill you, really, I didn't. You were already dead. I know these things, I'm a doctor, you see . . .  
  
None of it made it to her lips, frozen as she was with her back against the far wall. Weapon, weapon, who's got the weapon? Oh, he does. She saw the scalpel in the corpse's hand, wet with blood. But I clean my tools, where did the blood come from?  
  
A metal table rolled away from her as she banged into it. Why aren't there any scalpels on this side of the room? Too neat, Lambert. Have to fix that. If you survive this. She grabbed an empty tray off of the table and threw it. It landed with a solid thunk on the forehead but didn't even slow the advance.  
  
The corner showed up quicker than she'd thought it would. The body was between her and the door now. Between her and the rest of the room for that matter, and closing in fast, blade at the ready. The fact that the hand that held it was weaving only made it worse. The gaping opening showed glimpses of spine and ribs in the back, flaps of skin hanging like curtains around an empty theater.  
  
Hands reached out from around the livid face in front of her and for a moment she thought it was some new thing out to get her, when they closed around the head and wrenched it sideways. A muffled cracking noise that sounded like it was underwater filled the suddenly still room.  
  
But the body was still thrashing on the ground, and she heard a louder, hollow popping, and wetter sounds. Hadn't she already removed the brain? But the legs and arms stilled. Crouching over the body, a gore crow in a battlefield in his black clothes, LaCroix removed his hands from the now oddly misshapen head and wiped his hands on the sheet that was still trailing from one of the bare feet. Dark stains on the white cotton, making bruises on it.  
  
He was turning toward her and she could see his eyes glowing amber, fangs slightly visibly. She started back against the corner and started to move away again when her legs wobbled and she let herself slide down the wall rather than fall on her face. He'd just have to kill her right here, the shock was setting in and she wasn't going anywhere. And Nick would at least yell at him about it, wouldn't he?  
  
She could already imagine the sensation of blood flowing out of her body when the ancient vampire drained her. It would be like when she gave blood, but harsher, deeper. No pain yet, just a growing empty feeling. Her heart beat, but it wasn't centered in her chest. How had it escaped? Losing it, Lambert. Eyes growing heavy, she watched him come closer.  
  
Why fight like a fiend to escape one monster and fall right over for this one? Well, at least he's familiar. Killed by the familiar. No one has to wonder; it's common, really.  
  
Wait, was he saying something? Sound had receded, her ears were stuffed with cotton. They used to do that to corpses, she reminded herself with a bitter inner laugh. Put some in my eyes and mouth too and I'll be safe. Hear no evil, See no evil, Speak no evil. More laughter bubbled up, but she wouldn't let it out.  
  
"Dr. Lambert? Natalie? I have to help you now. It's all right, he can't hurt you again," he told her quietly like you would a child.  
  
Yeah, but you can, you bastard! Wait, did he say again? She still felt like she was turning liquid and draining away, but LaCroix's eyes were becoming blue again and he was reaching for her arm, the same as the John Doe had. Looking down to where his hand went, she wondered when she'd changed into a red blouse. Hadn't she worn a white one today? Oh, that's right, she had. The sleeve was wet and the fabric stuck to her arm, flying in tatters from a deep cut in her arm. How deep, she couldn't tell with the blood coating it and still running freely down her hand. Did she see white for a moment there at the bottom? No, don't look again. Her head was spinning when LaCroix grabbed her arm tightly across the wound and pulled it roughly over her head. He moved around her so the arm holding hers went around her shoulders and slipped his other under her knees, lifting her out of the pool of red that was forming around her.  
  
Her vision went to his pale hair. Somehow a smudge of red was on his temple, coloring his hairline candy red in that spot. Natalie couldn't imagine how it had gotten there. She reached up to brush it away, but couldn't. Oh, yeah. Arm. Her other one was around his neck, clinging weakly. Still didn't hurt, but it felt like her heart was beating right under his hand. That's where it had gotten to! Cool hand on her hot skin, flushed with the heat of the blood trying to escape the severed veins.  
  
Strips of light flowed quickly by, end to end, so bright they made her eyes water.  
  
Next: The Fine Art of Smacking Vampires Upside the Head, or Nick Shows Up. | | | | | | | | 


	3. The Fine Art Of Smacking Vampires Upside...

I don't know if anyone is still reading this. I've had this written for ages, along with the next chapter, but I won't bore you with all the reasons it wasn't up long ago. I still don't have a Beta, so I hope there aren't too many problems in this, and I'll try and finish off the next chapter and get it up soon. Thanks to any still hanging in there and welcome to anyone new!  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, but I'd love to borrow LaCroix for a while...  
  
Chapter 3: The Fine Art of Smacking Vampires Upside the Head  
  
Even in the middle of the night the lights in the emergency room cut through LaCroix's eyes with a sharp pain and afterimages like looking into the sun too long, assuming he could do such a foolish thing anymore. Hordes of white-coated people swarmed around Dr. Lambert, upset as an overturned anthill at one of their own being injured. He felt something was missing, then realized with a start that he'd been subconsciously expecting incense and someone exhorting the gods for healing. It had been a while since he'd been present at a healing, or whatever they called it now, instead of being the cause of blood being spilled. Well, spilled only if he missed any, he mused.  
  
Dr. Lambert had acquitted herself well in the fight. Even had he not helped, he felt sure she'd have come through somehow, bloodied but unbowed. Less to be thought of was his blinding anger when he'd seen her menaced and injured. He didn't even know if he'd been moving at more than mortal speed as he took her here. Now he lurked on the edge of the bright room, wondering if he could even tell anymore if what they were doing to her would help.  
  
Police arrived at some point in the proceedings, and zeroed in on LaCroix as a bystander, likely from the blood still coating his hands, too much to even begin drying yet, still candy-apple red. Her blood, mostly. It was all he could smell now, filling him like some exotic perfume. He resisted an urge to taste it, yellow glinting in his eyes for a fleeting moment. He contented himself with answering questions on a sort of autopilot. He was just visiting Dr. Lambert. He had no idea who'd attacked her. A crazed patient, perhaps, interrupted mutilating the cadavers? Such a pity. No, he'd like to stay and make sure Dr Lambert was recovering. A trip to Homicide was unnecessary. This last needed a bit of work with his skills of mental persuasion. Luckily, none of the detectives had the annoying ability to resist such things, unlike the good doctor.  
  
He leaned back against the cold metal of one of the counters, feeling memories rising to draw him in. He'd almost given in to them when his arm was clenched tight enough to make his bones creak together. He was unsurprised when he looked up into the furious face of his son, Nicholas, who's eyes had almost gone completely yellow. Not, LaCroix thought, from the blood as he himself had but from sheer anger.  
  
He still felt detached in time and it took him moments of it to hear his son's hiss. "What have you done to her now?" He looked down at the hand on his forearm that was being coated in red as the knuckles whitened with the force of the grip.  
  
Bringing his gaze back up to Nicholas's, he stared sternly back. "Release me."  
  
"What did you do?" Louder this time.  
  
"I've just finished having a chat with your co-workers, but perhaps you'd like to explain your own...oddities to them. He raised an eyebrow.  
  
Nick stared at him blankly before he caught sight of himself in the mirror behind the scrub sink, glowing eyes framed by his wild dark blond hair and fangs peeking from under his upper lip. His clothes looked tossed together and rumpled. He'd been caught by the sun while tracking down a suspect and had spent the day in the trunk of his car. There had been no time to go back to his apartment for a shower and fresh clothes when he'd gotten the call about Natalie. Not only did he look like a vampire, he looked like an insane one with no sense of hygiene.  
  
"Outside, then!" He tried to tug at LaCroix's arm, but was unable to even move it. The blood made his grip slick and his hand slipped on the sodden cloth. LaCroix just looked down at his arm again, refusing to repeat himself, also refusing to move. One of the detectives had started to notice them.  
  
"Hey, Nick, anything wrong?" He called out, starting to move closer.  
  
With a muffled growl, Nick removed his hand. "No. I'll be back in a minute." He carefully didn't look the detective in the face. He started for the heavy swinging door into the hallway, not even looking back to see if LaCroix was following.  
  
LaCroix did follow, even thought he had no wish for the argument that always seemed to occur whenever he was with Nicholas lately, even when there was no reason for it. Currently, there was every reason for it, at least he was sure his son would think so. Nicholas was hard to convince of anything that didn't fit his view of the world, or his image of his father. The relationship was of blood not seed, but LaCroix doubted that Nicholas could be any more infuriating had that been the case. He loved his son, but felt an abiding urge to knock sense into him almost continually in these last decades. He felt like he was trying to save a child determined to destroy himself. LaCroix was no less determined himself. Otherwise, he'd have given the boy up and moved on. But no one can forget their children, even when they're mostly at odds with them.  
  
He still felt detached. LaCroix just wanted to make sure Dr. Lambert was taken care of and go home and reflect on the implications of the events in the morgue and old memories that waited to drag him in if only he could have a quiet moment. Looking at his son's still more than slightly golden eyes and aggressive stance he didn't hold out hope that it would be soon. Looking back down the empty hallway, he commented, "If you can keep it to a dull roar, your secret should be secure. I do have other business today, so I should appreciate it if you would be succinct in your imagined grievances against me, Nicholas."  
  
"Imagined! LaCroix, you're covered in Natalie's blood, I'm not imaging that!" He kept his voice lowered with difficulty, making a motion to hit the wall, but managed to stop with his knuckles scraping the light green paint. He opened his hand and laid it palm flat against the wall, closing his eyes briefly as if drawing strength from his contact with the solid building.  
  
LaCroix had no idea how to answer what was, really, only the truth, as far as it went. He felt too weary to explain and resented the boy yet again seeing him as the villain. He refused to think of the many times he had been just that. Logic wasn't always a guest at family arguments.  
  
Heavy, swift steps pounded down the tile floor towards their stand- off. "Hey, Nick! Have you seen her? She okay? I can't believe she got cut up in her own morgue! What're the odds of that, even in this city?" Detective Skanke's loud chatter announced his arrival. The man was short and rather round, always making LaCroix idly wonder if the police still had any sort of maximum weight limits. Skanke was blowing hard and he got to them, his balding scalp shiny with sweat. He leaned over a bit, bracing his hands on his thighs while he got his breathing under control. "So spill, Knight!" He looked up at Nick from his bent over position.  
  
"Doctor Lambert is supposed to be well, Detective," LaCroix told him when Nick had left the silence go on too long.  
  
"Great! Lucien, isn't it? Nick's dad? I heard you were the big hero of the day! The word is that Nat'd be on one of her own slabs right now if you hadn't chased that guy off and kept her from bleeding out..." Skanke vaguely remembered being introduced to the elegant man with the short white-blond hair and almost military bearing when he'd been at the Raven club looking for Nick one night. The guy hardly looked old enough to be Nick's father, but he might just carry his age well. After nagging his partner about it on a slow stake out, Nick had admitted that Knight wasn't his original last name and that he'd changed it to fit in more in the precinct. Skanke had to admit 'Nicholas LaCroix' was a less likely name for a homicide detective than 'Nick Knight', even with all of the jokes that went around with Nick being on the night shift.  
  
Nick's head whipped around so fast Skanke could almost hear a snap. "He saved her?" he asked in disbelief.  
  
"Yeah, sure! He didn't tell you?"  
  
"I just got here." Nick turned to LaCroix, a stunned look on his face.  
  
"Well, thank the man properly! Take him out to dinner or something. I gotta go check on the Doc. Myra will want to know everything when I get home." Straightening, he trotted back to the emergency room. Well, he does recover quickly, LaCroix reflected. The short, almost comical man's unflappable stability, both mental and physical, was probably why he worked so well with Nicholas who lacked the former and would need the latter in a human partner.  
  
Limiting himself to a raised eyebrow, LaCroix stared at Nick. "Do you wish to continue flinging accusations at me?"  
  
Nick had the grace to look embarrassed. "No." Staring back at the emergency room, he added, "Thank you."  
  
"You're very welcome."  
  
"Why?"  
  
LaCroix didn't even pretend to misunderstand his son. "Dr. Lambert would be something of a loss were she to be gone from the world, I think." Another patient was quickly rolled past them, trailing the thick odors of blood and fear. The wheels of the gurney squeaked on the tile floor, the sound shivering on the edge of painful to heightened hearing. "Is that so surprising?"  
  
"For you, yes. No, I'm sorry again. I'm so used to arguing with you that it's a hard habit to break." LaCroix silently agreed. Occasionally Nicholas could actually be quite perceptive, if he could keep himself from just lashing out at problems. Not that he himself was free of that peccadillo, but he needn't share that with the boy. Nick closed his eyes again, but fewer stress lines were apparent on his face this time. When he opened them, he looked a little more in control of himself. "You said she was going to be all right?"  
  
"That is what I could compel out of one of the attendants. They weren't inclined to be very communicative to me, even if I did bring her in."  
  
Sharply laughing, Nick told him, "You aren't a relative, so you've bounced off of hospital rules. Just lie to them. People do it all time."  
  
"Lie?" This seemed to be a new idea for LaCroix, and not one he particularly liked. He was wearing what Nick called his 'Roman Patrician' expression, which was not unlike Wolfgang Puck presented with a fast food burger. Offended and superior with a slight under current of curiosity and wondering if he was missing something.  
  
"That isn't new to you."  
  
"Certainly not! But unnecessary for such a small matter."  
A loud buzzing filled the corridor, emanating from somewhere in the blond detective's pants as he jerked in surprise. "Shit! What now..." Nick dug in his pocket for a pager, finally finding the button to shut it off. He put it back in his pants, looked thoughtful, pulled it back out, pushed a few more buttons and put it away again. Seeing his father's confusion, Nick explained, "Scanke keep turning on vibrate when he borrows it. Bit of a shock if you aren't expecting it. I forgot to check it last time."  
  
LaCroix smirked, and realized that he liked this Detective Skanke much more.  
  
"Damn it! I can't stay...this'll be the break in my case, and I need to check the site before it gets mucked up. I've got to find someone to stay with Nat. I don't want her to wake up alone. I wonder if Grace is on duty yet?"  
  
"I will stay, Nicholas." Forestalling protests, he added, "I was the one who saved her. Surely I can be trusted for a few more hours. After all, if anything happens while she is in my care, I would have a hard time convincing you of my innocence."  
  
Nick could almost feel his mind working a mile a minute. He wanted badly to stay, but Natalie would be the first one to yell at him if he didn't go. She'd had one too many customers from this case, and had been quite vocal about what she'd like to do to the one responsible if she could get him on her table, dead or alive. Nick had been rather shocked at her creativity. LaCroix looked tired but determined. He had saved her, whatever his reasons.  
  
"You have my word she will be safe."  
  
He knew how hard that was for LaCroix to say, admitting that he knew he truly wasn't trusted. And he'd never gone back on something once he'd sworn it, good or bad. Nick closed his eyes for a moment, relief warring with worry in his thoughts. He looked straight into his sire's eyes for a moment. "Thank you," he said formally. LaCroix gave him a slight bow of the head and a low rumble of approval. With a last somewhat conflicted expression on his face, Nick left, leaving the old warrior to his vigil. 


End file.
